The Promise 'Verse, Sidestory II
by kamikumai
Summary: Sam’s up to something. Something Dean doesn’t like. Or so Dean believes. Warning: Wincest, and my weird sense of humour?


**Word from the Author:** And here is the second sidestory from the Promise 'Verse. I would like to duly note that, in all honesty, I'm not entirely sure how serious I was when writing this. It's an odd little piece for me, nothing like how I normally write ...I don't think.

My own brand of humour? ...Well, I hope you enjoy. Please let me know what you guys think, cos... Otherwise, I doubt I'll ever write anything like this ever again...! (Cos it was weird... 8D)

**Disclaimer:** Once again. Not mine.

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**The Promise 'Verse**

**Sidestory II**

_**Crosses**_

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**

Dean had been chucked out of the motel room by Sam, and ordered to go get the goods needed to sanctify water. He was also told to come back in exactly one and a half hours. When he made a move as if to protest he was silenced by the bitchy death glare Sam was sporting, and he hastened to agree. _No problem, bro. 1.5hrs._ _Exactly_.

They were running low on holy water, and for some reason Sam refused to use any water but natural spring, and only a certain brand at that.

_Freak_, Dean thought affectionately.

Sam, Dean noticed, had been acting a little odd this entire week. Well, more odd than usual. As there weren't any anniversaries, or other meaningful occurrences that might have resulted in such behaviour, Dean was a little stumped as to what exactly was going on.

Dean wondered if Sam was planning a surprise for him. But dismissed the notion on the grounds that Sam was acting _way_ too jittery for it to be something that would please him.

Dean could think of a few things that Sam might be doing. Cheating on him, for one, would explain it, apart from the fact that Sam would _never _do that.

Alternatively, he could be working on a prank. But that didn't fit the M.O. either, if only because their pranking usually filled them with unholy glee, if not a whole range of other highly excitable emotions. Whereas Sam from what Dean had noted appeared to be a bundle of nerves.

This left one option. Sam was doing something, that he himself likely enjoyed, but not with any other people, _alone_, Dean stipulated mentally, and he was afraid that whatever it was, Dean would not approve. He was thus nervous that Dean would find out, and... do what, Dean was not exactly sure.

Dean wondered what it could be. They were pretty adventurous when it came to sexcapades. Positions, flavours, bondage, rimming... Dean began mentally cataloguing their various sexual activities. The list was quite long, and detailed. And Dean actually felt himself getting hard in recollection of some of their more... titillating trysts.

Shoving a receipt for 10 liters of spring water into his back pocket, he picked up the bottle, and hauled it out to the Impala, fishing his keys out of his pocket as he went and willing his erection to subside.

Dean realized that the trip had been a bit quicker than anticipated, 45 minutes max and he'd be back at the motel, rapping at the door, seeing as Sam had taken the room keys from him before he left, as if to ensure his staying outside.

Dean questioned whether Sam in all his brilliant genius had forgotten what they did for a living, and the number of places they've had to break and enter into...

In fact, maybe Sam was doing whatever dirty deed he wanted to do on his lonesome still. Right now. Dean asked himself whether he should maybe prolong the time Sam believed he had 'til Dean came home, so that he could continue doing whatever it was he was doing, and Dean would be able to find out what exactly _it_ was.

With that thought in mind Dean whipped out his cell to call Sam and tell him he'd be delayed. Pressing a button for speed dial, the phone rang for a good 30 seconds before Sam picked up.

"Dean?" Sam asked. He did sound a little out of breath, but he was masking it pretty damn well. Anyone else probably wouldn't have been able to tell, but Dean knew Sam, and knew him _good_.

"Ah, yeah, hey, Sammy. They were actually out of stock for the brand you wanted, and I don't really wanna have to load up with tonnes of little bottles, not to mention that'll be a pain in the ass come sanctification time. So, I reckon I'll be going to the next store along the highway. I'm afraid that means it'll be at least another hour or so before I get back."

"Oh, that's fine," Sam replied, sounding a little relieved.

Dean supposed that though Sam probably would've wanted more time, he would've also been hesitant to set the time limit beyond an hour an a half because had it been longer... that definitely would've been suspicious. Had it been less, then he would have run a greater risk of Dean coming back and catching him in the act. Whatever that act may be.

"See you then," Dean said with finality, desperately trying to extract _any_ hint of anticipation or curiosity from his voice, any traces of anything that could possibly give his game away, as he hung up.

Filled with childlike delight, Dean sat behind the wheel of the Impala and sped back to the hotel. Already planning his course of action.

The drive took him 10 minutes, tops. And just like that he was out of the car and at the bathroom window, that, he smirked evilly, he'd coincidentally left rather _open_ this morning.

Swiftly and silently, he climbed through the gap, landing softly in a crouched position. Luck did indeed seem to be with him today, as he noted the bathroom door had been left ajar.

Grateful that things were going his way, he peered out from the not so lucky awkward angle to get a glimpse into their motel room.

What he saw, though, caused fear, betrayal and bile to rise violently in his throat, all in equal portions.

There strewn across the floor were a few articles of women's clothing that looked like they'd been haphazardly tossed in the heat of passion, as well as a pair of stilettos that looked like they could be used to stab someone to death. He was tempted to use one of them as his choice murder weapon. The heat of anger washed through him, burning him, and he saw red.

_No one was allowed to touch _his _Sammy, no one but him!_

Guns ablazing, figuratively speaking, although Dean did wish he had a gun on him so he could blow the bitch's brain from her _fucking_ skull, he slammed open the bathroom door, muscles flexing, fully ready to pry whatever whore had managed to sink her _whore-claws_ into _his _brother.

A started yelp sounded in the room, and Dean thought vindictively at the bitch, _serves you right, you stupid fucking **cow**!_

Only to pause and take in what he was seeing. He blinked. To his surprise and mild chagrin, his mission had been utterly pointless, as there was, in fact, only one person presently occupying their motel room.

Dean's eyes were wide, and getting wider still as they roamed over the pale blue tissue-silk that was bunched up around Sammy's waist, the opaque stockings held up by a pair of lacy garters that hugged those, long, long legs, the white silk gloves encasing those beloved hands, and flowing up passed Sam's lickable elbows, the spaghetti-straps balancing precariously on those lean but powerful shoulders, and the wanton expression that was still lurking underneath shocked embarrassment.

Then his eyes focused on the white gloved hand wrapped around that beautiful cock. And his mouth was suddenly dry, and it felt a little bit like he'd swallowed his own tongue.

Sam's eyes were wide and wild, flickering nervously around the room, desperately trying to rest their gaze on anything other than Dean. Sam's cheeks were slashed bright red with colour, and his hair was mussed and tousled. His mouth was parted and moist.

Finally, realizing there was no where to run, no where to hide, Sam's eyes settled on Dean's face. Their eyes met and held. Dean wasn't sure what kind of expression he was wearing, but he assumed it must have been good. As Sam's gorgeous length twitched in response, and his hand tightened instinctively around it.

"Dean...!" Sam choked out, voice strangled and needy, and came. Most of his come flew up and landed on the pristine pale blue material.

Dean couldn't help but think, _that was _the _fucking hottest thing Dean had seen to this date_.

In fact, after that thought, it was as if motor facility had abandoned Dean, and he was left staring helplessly at Sam who looked thoroughly debauched and was panting heavily his eyes now closed and his head tilted back. Dean suspected that his mouth was hanging open.

"Dean... Please." Sam implored; his voice ardent but his eyes were still firmly closed. In his head Sam was asking that Dean say something, anything... Even as he thought, _Oh God... I've made him sick, and now he hates me, and this was just way too strange for Dean to deal with, and I've sooo completely freaked him out..._

Dean's response was to make a strange choking noise, oddly reminiscent of Sam's little death keen. His entire body tensing, and his fists clenching convulsively at his sides, Dean's mouth opened to gasp in a breath.

Sam's eyes snapped open at the sound, his eyes searching Dean's face for some kind of condemnation as he hesitantly began to pull down the skirts to cover himself.

"Stop," Dean's voice panted out into the silence that lay between them, and Sam did, frozen at the sound of Dean's voice.

"I–" Sam looked as if he wanted to apologize, or something idiotic like that.

"Sammy."

The tone in which Dean said his name, made Sam quickly close his mouth on whatever it was he had began to say. Instead, he looked up at Dean with woebegone eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching down, like a small child expecting chastisement.

"Why didn't you tell me you wanted to do... this?"

Dean's question was met with silence.

"Sammy."

"I thought... it would freak you out..." _And it has_, Sam added silently, anguished.

"And why would you think that?" Dean asked calmly, waiting for Sammy's full story to be made known.

"Dude, you were fully paying out those guys who looked gay," Sam said, his tone carrying both exasperation and irritation at Dean wanting him to _explain_ when Dean knew all too well that Sam knew he'd be freaked out, or worse _disgusted_ by it.

Dean just looked at him uncomprehendingly.

"...In Texas," Sam continued. "The ones in that diner, who you said shouldn't be so _blatant_ about their sexuality. The ones who you also said surprised you, given that they weren't dressed like _girls_."

Dean thought about Sam's remark, noting the disdain that was infused within every syllable. _Oh yeah. He had said that, hadn't he?_ But this was different. What Dean had said, that... that had been about private things being private, and staying private. Hell, Dean had nothing against gay guys; if he had, he'd be a fucking hypocrite given all the things he did with Sammy on a regular basis.

As for the dressing like girls comment... Well, it simply hadn't occurred to him how _ohmyfuckinggodHOT_ it could be. If he hadn't seen it first hand, quite literally, he probably would still be unenlightened, and disdainful. He wasn't sure how to explain all this to Sam though.

Sam sat there, his skirts, and whoa was it still a little weird to be attaching a masculine possessive pronoun onto that word, still hitched up about his waist, his hands, and his smaller self, lying limp. His small burst of anger having already burnt out, he no longer stared defiantly at Dean, but had his head lowered, as if he was ashamed that he'd somehow disappointed Dean. That he'd earned himself Dean's scorn.

In a flash, Dean planted himself on Sam's lap, encircling him in his arms, before kissing him hotly.

Sam's head jerked back in surprise at the sudden attack, before he melted against Dean, and sighed into their kiss.

Dean pulled back after he thought Sammy was well enough reassured that Dean didn't _hate_ him or anything stupid like that, and said, "You were gorgeous."

"Dean..." Sam groaned, embarrassed.

"I'm serious, Sammy. So fucking gorgeous that I'm actually kinda uncomfortable right now."

Sam looked askance at him, trying to figure out what exactly Dean meant by that. Sam shyly asked him, "Do you... need some help?"

"No," came the hasty answer.

Sam's face fell at the refusal. Arms that had been wrapped tightly around Dean's waist loosened, as Sam said, "Oh..." It was true, Sam realized morosely, eyes quickly flickering away in shame, Dean wasn't even hard. He was just trying to be consoling, looking after Sam's emotional well-being as he always did.

He then heard Dean sigh, before telling him, in a tone that Sam very rarely heard, and also recognized as Dean's timbre for conveying embarrassment, "Sam," Dean said, seeming hesitant.

"Whatever it is, Dean. You know you can tell–"

"I _already _came," Dean let the words burst from his mouth.

Sam inhaled a startled breath at Dean's admission, "W-what?"

"You heard me," Dean said. "I already came. In my pants. You didn't even have to touch me. All you had to do was say _please_, and I came so hard, you wouldn't believe." As he told him this, the fingers of Dean's right hand weaved with Sam's left and he brought Sam's hand down to his crotch, providing him with undeniable truth. "Do you believe me know?"

Sam nodded hastily, his mouth dry at this new told information.

"And do you know what, Sammy?" The drop in the pitch of Dean's voice told him that Dean was already over his moment of embarrassment.

Sam shook his head fervently indicating that _no, he didn't know what..._ his capacity for speech seemingly momentarily impaired.

"I think," Dean began stripping off his jacket, "we may," there went his shirt, "just," and his jeans, "have to take advantage," his damp and rather sticky boxers joined the pile of clothes, "of this new found kink of yours," and wearing nothing but a cocky smile, Dean jumped him.

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_Epilogue_

Despite the alleged need for holy water in dealing with a feral flock of possessed geese that were running amok in the next town over, neither of the Winchester brothers were seen for days...

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Sidestory II - Finis

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**Another Word from the Author: **And little did we know that Dean always had security cameras set up in their room, the focal point of the lens, of course, being Sammy's bed. Dean, in his angst'ing about what exactly Sam could be up to, completely forgot about said cameras... until... I'll think about writing another sidestory for this 'verse. Maybe. 

Like I said at the beginning, please do let me know what you think. Especially about the "kink" so to speak. I wasn't sure if it was a little too out there, but then again, this is meant to be light and happy and fun, not to mention in complete contrast to 'Blood'.


End file.
